Risen
by LuvforNoneyetSome
Summary: When Rosie dies, she catupulted into a strange in-between world. Learning that she's not the first, Rosie must find her true way to Heaven before the Darkness comsumes her. Note frm Author: I haven't crossed it over w/ MR yet, but i will! Please Read!;P


Chapter One

My wings unfurled, gently pulsing behind me, becoming one with my surroundings, almost imperceptible. I was just able to see out under the Chicago skyline, directly above the sight where I was murdered two years ago.

A couple was walking under the familiar street lamp, oblivious to the old, black blood stain that covered the pavement. But they wouldn't have seen it to begin with; a thin layer of snow had covered the dock of the pier- just like the night I was murdered.

So many little things bring me back to that night- a cool, light gust of wind, the scent that came from the indoor Winter WonderFest at Navy Pier, the way his hands were so sure... like he had done it so many times before…..

I shook my head. That was the past. They had caught my killer and he was sentenced to death. I had been in that room with him when they injected him. I had whispered in his ear-

_"I sure hope the Lord has mercy on your sorry ass."_

I saw when the earth opened under my feet, and his soul go straight there- to Hell.

I had seen how my parents were at my funeral. How they hated each other in the past, but with this sadden reunion, it had brought them together. Each one needed the other. My parents- who I once thought were the two strongest beings in this world- had crumpled to the ground with the grief of my passing. I remember crying, and placing my hands on their shoulders.

But they did not feel me. My presence didn't affect them like it had with my killer. I loved them, and thus, I could not support them in this life. It had brought me to even more tears as I realized this. I could never support my parents ever again.

Those were the worst memories I had. If I could withstand those, then I could withstand the sliver of memory that contained my death.

I watched as the couple swung around in a circle, the man's eyes gleaming with true love, the woman's sparkling with a profound joyfulness. Those two would marry in a year, and have a set of beautiful twins. I could feel it within me, inside of my bones; I knew this would happen. It was my gift. If I willed myself to see ahead, then I would. I couldn't see _the_ future, but if I could concentrate on one mortal, then I would see _their_ future.

But I couldn't just go up to a stranger and predict where they would be four years from now. If the mortal had strong feelings, or were dead-set on something, only then would I see.

I didn't know why that was.

With this couple in front of me, I was certain that that was going to be their future: together, happy, with two children, and in love. That wouldn't change.

I sighed. I hadn't lived long enough to feel love yet. I wondered if I ever would in this life.

I caught the change in pressure around me before the gentle, warm breeze blew next to me. I felt it immediately because the air was cold, not warm; it was December and Navy Pier was exceptionally cold tonight.

The white rail I stood on shook slightly as Abbey landed swiftly next to me. Her sliver wings trembled a little- either from the cold or to keep her tiny body from falling- as her gold hair blew with the wind she had created. She tilted her hand back, felt the light mist on her face, and laughed. The way it sounded, it was as if her voice was the sound of tinkling bells on a cold, wintry night. I laughed along with her. Mine was the sound of a child's- one who was receiving the world with its new eyes; it was wondrous.

"No wonder you choose to come here so often, Rosie. Navy Pier is magnificent. Have you've been inside yet?"

"No, I haven't." I continued to stare under the street lamp, my happy façade broken by the question. It was empty now because the couple had receded. Shame. Their future had been fun to watch, and feel; watch their ever changing decisions and feel the emotions that came off of them. I smiled guiltily. I shouldn't intrude for I knew it was rude.

Abbey closed her eyes, and I felt as her mind searched the area around us. That was her gift: she could sense danger, or problems around us. She was like radar, in way. She was here to keep the rest of us safe. I wondered absentmindedly why I was here…

I already knew what she would find: my whole family inside, enjoying themselves, as they should be.

My chest constricted with the grief knowing I would never physically be with them again. My face showed only half of what I really felt.

"Oh," she whispered, and I closed my eyes, wishing, just this once, that my father would see me. He had been angry with me the night I died, and had been in denial ever since. I longed to comfort him in any way I could. To tell him that it wasn't his fault; that he should move on.

But I knew I couldn't.

As much as I was dead-set on seeing him, the outcome was a hazy answer. There was a possibility it might come true. Possibility or not, I still could not see him.

Abbey straightened up quickly. She knew what I was thinking; we were practically sisters. Her smile widened, showing straight, pearl-white teeth.

"Come on. I'll be next to you the whole way." She looped her arm around mine, and we stood on the thin, slick white railing of the stairs. In one leap- which was just a movement of our knees- we jumped off the roof.

We gracefully landed on the platform, which had the glass double-doors that lead into the building. I could see the food stands that waited around the entrance of the Winter WonderFest, waiting for those hungry children to come. The smell leaked under the door, and it smelled like warm hot chocolate and caramel popcorn. I inhaled, increasing my senses to take in more. When they did, I sighed happily.

Almost simultaneously, we squared our shoulders, and brought back every human memory we had. If we could conjure up our hazy, weak memories from when we lived in the past, it allowed us to look close to a human. We didn't know why that was; there were many things we didn't understand in this life. We could only stay in the form for an hour though- partially because of the Law (that had been established at the dawn of time, or so the stories say) and because we got very sick if we didn't change back. Our bodies weren't made to be human again. It would kill us (could we really die again, after we had passed already?)

I had very little- in my opinion- so my form was kind of hazy. I was a cross of something that looked like a ghost and a teenaged girl.

Abbey, on the other hand, made a very convincing human. Her skin had that pinkish glow to it. Her cheeks were roses on her face when she smiled brightly. No one would even guess that she was an angel.

"Oh come on!" she whined, stomping her foot, and gazing at my hazed figure. "I know damn well that you have a lot of happy memories. What about that last Christmas of yours? Hmm? The one where you were staying at your cousins' place 'cause ya'll lost your house?"

Okay, from the sound of it, it didn't sound very happy. But in truth, it _was_ a happy memory. See, we lost our house two months before Christmas and my cousin took us in out of the kindness of her heart. It only made things worse, though. My parents began fighting, money was becoming more of an issue than before, drugs were brought into the picture…

But that morning…I remember it as if it were happening again.

Waking up- knowing I wasn't in my home any more, but getting up any way- going upstairs, (I, along with my brother, were sleeping in the basement, under mounds of blankets. It was so cold.) And seeing presents line the bottom of the tree. I knew almost all of them were my cousins' gifts, but I saw where mine were, along with my brothers. I picked up the smallest one, tore the corner of it, and saw the packaging for an MP3.

I was so happy because I didn't have to use my old flower CD player anymore; one that I had since I was five. It warmed my heart that my parents had come up with enough money to get me that. I knew money was tight, but I never expected to get what I really wanted. I told myself- holding the still wrapped MP3 in my hands- never to forget that feeling. Even if I lived to be one hundred, I made myself promise that I would never forget that feeling. But, of course, I died the following Christmas.

When I opened my eyes, my figure was shinning- shinning even more than Abbey's.

"Wow." She whispered, "you're beautiful, Rosie." In truth, I wasn't Hollywood beautiful, but everyone around me said I was as beautiful as the sun itself, and as unique as the moon. (Okay, my dad always said that to me, but _he _said that everyone agreed. I always loved when my father said that.)

"How do I look?" it was a comical thing to ask, considering once you're an angel, you're as beautiful as you could be. But in human form…. I began to feel self-concisions.

"Well, ya' know….now come on!" she said, and ran happily towards the glass doors.

She ran smack into the glass.

I laughed, all traces of being self-concisions vanishing. "Hey, silly, we're in human-form now. Can't walk through things anymore, remember?"

"Oh, I know…" she said, raking her brain for a come back, "I was just…getting someone's attention! That's it! I was getting someone's attention." She said proudly, holding her hands on her hips. Seeing Abbey in front of me- hands on hips, and with a smug expression pasted on her face- it was comical. Comical or not, it was impossible to deny that she was gorgeous, angel or not.

Abbey had long- almost as long as mine- straight gold-blonde hair that hung down to her waist. Her eyes were gray, and framed by thin, wispy lashes- something she always hated. She told me that she wanted my lashes, which framed my eyes, and grew long and thick. And I usually laughed. I wasn't used to compliments from someone other than my family. Standing here, Abbey looked like she was made to be an angel, even if she was in human form.

I laughed again- at both my mental tirade about how Abbey looked- and opened the door. How I didn't know stepping into that lobby would change me.

We had walked in, ignoring the gaping mouths and curious eyes of men, and saw the magnificent tree that was the main decoration. It was filled with ornaments, presents and garland, all wrapping around the tree, filling it, and making it real.

Abbey was perky at my side (as always) chattering and hugging random strangers, laughing at their exasperated expressions. Oh, Abbey.

"Come on!" she whined, pulling me into the Winter WonderFest's (this was becoming a mouthful to say) main attraction: holiday trees from all over the world. But the trees rarely caught and held my attention. It was the families that I focus on.

There were parents who were worn out and tired of being dragged around by their children. There were young couples pushing baby strollers or holding a chubby hand of a toddler. There were grandparents with three generations of their family with them as they gazed on the decorations. Each family was different and yet the same: they were all here to see the joy of Christmas. They were all here to enjoy each other's company. They were all here to _live. _

Next to me, Abbey sighed. "Always putting emphasis on the fact that humans are alive and _we are not. _Seriously, Rosie, its Christmas."

"I died on Christmas."

"You died _near the time _of Christmas."

"Then you tell me that when the date of you're death approaches, you do not feel the least bit depressed. The least bit unhappy that you are not with your family anymore." I snapped. It happened to us all, but Abbey didn't have to sugar-coat it for me.

I was furious.

Why did I have to die near Christmas? Couldn't I just enjoy the freakin' holiday without the depressing, sinking feeling I got because of my passing?

I sighed. _I_ didn't have to be snippy either. After all, Abbey was just trying to help. When the feeling came, no one- and I mean absolutely no one- could deny that they were dead. It was as if, on that one day that we died, we relived our most horrible feelings. Those feeling group together and become something terrible.

"Ya' know what?" I said, trying my hardest not to sound sarcastic, or anything else that would imply the feelings in me. "I'm just gonna go my separate way. I'll meet you at the roof top."

Abbey's gray eyes were full of understanding. She had those eyes when she was human. But they changed when she died. When Abbey was in her angel form, her eyes were gold, along with mine, as well every other angel. I was only allowed to see my blue eyes when I was pretending to be human.

"I understand. Be careful." She whispered and I turned and walked away. Maybe if I tried to bring the feelings of the mortals around me, then maybe I could feel joyful myself. But even as I wished that, I knew it would never come true.

It was after that when my night truly became hell.

About five minutes had past and I had made my way to the ice rink. Seeing young teenagers circle around each other and falling and laughing…it was lustrous? How their mortality practically shined? I think that would be a reasonable description on how these teens looked before me. Their laughter circled and curled around them, changing from light blue, to a deep violet, to a radiant gold. It circled and caressed their arms and legs, lifting them, and allowing them to balance on the ice. Though I could see their ever-changing laughter, they could not. You could say that their feelings were auras around them. After all, isn't that what auras are? One mortal's feelings?

I saw the hot pink, bubbly aura of one mortal before I heard the laugh. It was throaty, yet light and free. It was a child's. Deep inside of me, I knew that I had heard this laugh before. I listened closer. The child was no more than nine…and it was a girl's. That immediately stuck something in me.

I only had one girl cousin. A cousin who was seven when I died…which would make her nine now. I could almost hear the gears clicking together in my head.

My eyes flashed gold as they swiftly searched the rink. No, my cousin could not be here, I told myself.

_But they come here almost every year, _an evil, yet playful side of me whispered. It was the side that longed to see my family.

_They mustn't see us, _the reasonable side of me answered. But it, too- as much as it wanted deny what it truly wanted- longed to see my family.

_They have lives…they must continue to live, _Playful whispered. She was right; my family was supposed to move on. Isn't that what all mortals are supposed to do when they loose the one the loved?

_Either way, you must stay hidden. Leave now, and do not turn back, _Reasonable whispered at Playful and at me. We both ignored her.

Then I saw her. Madeline. My nine year old cousin, the only girl- besides myself- in our large family, was here.

She skated around in premium white skates, red tights, a black plaid printed skirt and a white parka that ended just below her waist. She had on matching red hat and gloves as well, and wore cherry-red lip stick - something I always nagged her that she was too young for.

Maddy- as everyone called her- wore a bright smile as she skated past the crowd.

She was my godsister, and was now no more that ten feet from me.

After my first few months as an angel, I would watch over my family in certain ways. I watched how my cousin would be sad, then happy, then painfully annoying. It always amused me how she could play each emotion so well. She was sad those first few months; I was like an older sister to her, and my passing had an affect on her that touched her so deeply. As she played each emotion, I watched them sulk around her, changing from gray, to black, to a depressing navy blue. Each time a new wave of emotions hit her, they hit me twice as hard. And I would cry, and cry. Then Abbey would come and take me to my new home- my new life- and take care of me. She would make me hot chocolate and make me laugh until my sides hurt.

Abbey was a new sister to me, but deep down, Maddy would always remain the first.

As if she sensed that I was here- at the edge of the ice rink, staring intently at her- she turned and locked eyes with me. I knew what she saw: my pale skin, curly brown hair that hung to my waist and still had that crazy strip of red in it, my tall and oddly-long (at least in my eyes) figure, and my main feature, my blue eyes.

She skated over to me and came to a skidding halt not more than a foot from me, spraying a thin layer of ice against the rink's wall.

My first thought was that she had changed so much.

Her shoulder-length honey-blonde hair had grown out, curving around her waist. Her emerald green eyes were brought out by eye shadow. Maddy's tan skin had a light tone of blush to it, and she held her hands clasped over her heart.

I had remembered that the year I died was the year she was supposed to make her First Communion.

Again, my thoughts were that Maddy had changed so much in two years.

She placed her hands on the rink's wall to steady herself from the slight wind that came off of the passing skaters. That only made her come closer to seeing my true self: how my skin had a slight ashen-tone to it; how my eyes seemed to flash gold with excitement or from the flash of power that coursed threw my body; how my posture was straight and so still, like the ghosts in the horror movies that she loved to watch.

Maddy carefully raised a gloved hand, as if she thought I was a reflection. At my side, my hand raised a fraction of an inch, but I did not allow it to be seen by her. As much as I wanted to say something to her- maybe a message to pass to my family, or just a "hello"- I knew I couldn't.

It was against Law to make contact with a family member.

Inside, I cried out.

"Rosie?" Maddy whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." I said, my two halves crying and breaking inside of me, "I think you're terribly mistaken." With that, I walked away. I knew that if I said any more, I would crack. I would let the walls inside me down, and say what I wanted and feel the love of my family once more. But I could not, and- as much as I wanted to deny it- would not.

Almost running through the crowds, my eyes flashed gold, and remained that way. That red strip of hair turned silver, and I felt the tiny pinch as my wings began to unfold. My hair blew out from me like a cape and as soon as I reached the little ledge outside- the ledge that was directly above the docks of the Pier- I jumped.

Feeling the cold, icy water wash over me was good. I needed this. Of coarse I would not get hypothermia, but I would get cold- which was exactly want I wanted.

Under the water, I let my wings expand, their feathers shinning with tears. My wings were the color of my eyes when I was human, and had slight rays of silver in them. They were nothing, though, compared to Abbey's glorious silver wings.

I flipped over on my back in the water and saw what the world looked like under the water.

I liked it here; I could cry, and no one would know. But no matter where I went, or what I did, something always reminded me of the night I was murdered. Even now, as I gazed at the world from under the water, I remembered that when I died, I saw the world like this.

When my soul- not my body, but _soul_- died, I felt a rising and a crushing feeling. It was like being lifted, but at the same time, something was crushing you. I couldn't breathe; I wanted to take a breath and calm myself, but I couldn't. I was above my body, and my murderer; it was like I had been lifted to the ceiling- or in this case, the air above the two of us- yet now I was being crushed. My first thought was, _when will it end? _

If I could've gotten sick, I would have. Even though I knew that was my body down there, I couldn't believe what had been done to it.

There was a gash on the back of my head that slowly pulsed blood out onto the pavement. A knife wound started at the base of my right shoulder, circled under my collar bone, and ended on the top of my left shoulder. I could tell that the wound started at my right because it was deeper there than the left- it was as if he pressed harder into my skin to either get my attention or trying to make up his mind. (I later found out from him that he did that so I wouldn't move.) Under my chin was a small gash that leaked blood into my trachea so I couldn't scream. I was barely clothed as he was getting dressed- so that led me to believe that he raped me.

I was barely alive at this point as I gaze upon him, fully clothed now and gripping a gun. I was terrified now, and tried to move away from his line of sight.

It was a very weak effort.

It was then that the lifting and sinking feeling began as he pulled the trigger.

Once. Twice. A third time.

I was above him as he cleaned the gun, and carelessly threw it off the Pier. He then bent down, and gave me a small kiss on my bloody forehead, and walked away. When he walked away, rain began to fall.

I was screaming; wherever I was.

That was when the feelings started to become more intense.

It felt as though I was being lifted higher and higher, and inside I felt as if my lungs and other organs were being compressed.

It was then that I looked up, and saw the Chicago skyline as if I was under water. How the buildings shimmered and had a glowing-like feature to them. How the people who walked the streets at this time had different circling colors around them that followed their every move. How the white cabs looked like moving mounds of snow on the streets. How one person came to where I laid- dead and cold- and called the police. How that one person took off his coat, shook it out, and laid it over my body so the rain did not wash away any evidence.

I didn't know that the person I was looking at now would be my father in this new life.

Just as I was beginning to look farther out from Chicago in the watery-haze, I fell.

I don't know how, or even if I did fall, but what I did know was that it was a feeling. The lifting and compressing feeling evaporated and then I fell.

While I fell, fire coursed threw my back, arching it, and scorching my clothes off. My clothes were replaced with a long white v-neck, which clearly showed my wounds on my shoulders and neck.

I landed on a cold, hard wood floor, with water pooling around me. I thought I would feel cold, but the water caressed my body, and whispered to me that everything was alright, that I was safe, and unharmed. It was all too much to take in. That was when I passed out.

My body broke the surface of the water and Abbey gripped the fabric of my shirt.

I was not in my memory any more; I was back in the present.

"There you are! God, Rosie, you scared the crap outta me!" she said, releasing my shirt. She floated not more than a foot from me, and three feet above the water.

"Sorry, girl." I said with an apologetic smile. And I really did mean it. I hurt me deep down when I knew Abbey was worrying about me.

Abbey placed a hand over her heart and pretended to be having a heart attack. I laughed. She pointed at me, then herself, then fell on the water, but not receding under.

I laughed even harder.

She drew x's over her eyes, then stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth.

I had tears running down the sides of my face, and I, too, fell on the surface of the water. Abbey laughed with me, and cuddled up to my shoulder. She was so tiny, considering that she was only ten.

She looked at me with her big, gold doe eyes. "Can we please go home and try to enjoy ourselves? No one's home; I just called. It's Christmas Eve…come on." She whined.

"Oh, alright. For you." I said, flicking her nose.

"Yeah!" she sang, and shot up into the air at an un-human speed. Abbey flew around in a circle, all but becoming a silver piece of silk floating in the wind.

I shot up as well, circling and spinning the young angel, I, myself, becoming one with the dark sky as my wings shone all different shades of blue and silver. It was the pure enjoyment that wiped away any traces of my painful memories.

I walked into the church, blessed myself, and took a seat in the back pew. Before long, the priest comes out, and silently walks to the small, closed section of one of the confessionals. I wait a minute, then follow.

I kneel down on the kneeler, and sign myself with the cross.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."

"I forgive for your sins." He answers in a monotone voice.

"I haven't been to confession in two years. I lied to my girlfriend about why I wanted a break up. I cheated on her before that. I forgot to go to church last Sunday. And I stole three hundred dollars from my parents."

"Four 'Our Father's, seven 'Hail Mary's and three 'Glory Be's for your sins."

I leave the confessional not feeling better at all. They say once you confess your sins, you feel better…lighter, _free._ Like a weight's been lifted off of your shoulders. But I feel none of those. Just…_empty. _

I prayed what I needed to pray for my sins, but I didn't feel quite…sorry for them. I stopped in mid-Hail Mary, and gazed at the cross that hung above the marble alter. This church was the most beautiful in the Dioceses of Joliet, and yet, I saw nothing beautiful.

I was made to come here every Sunday when I was a child, squirming and fidgeting through it all. When I was of age, and moved out, I stopped going. Then I met Katie, and we dated, then I cheated on her, and now I'm here. How the hell does that happen?

Feeling nothing but confusion, I walked out of the church, not bothering to finish my pentence. I walked a couple blocks until I reached the doors of a local bar. When I opened the door, I was hit with that familiar and well-known scent of liquor, grease and smoke.

I took my regular seat- a metal stool in front of the bar- and waited until Nixie came over.

Her hair was dyed Copper Sunset today, bringing out her hazel eyes. She wore short shorts, despite the cold winter weather of December, which gave me a very nice view of her legs and ass. She wore the bar's t-shirt- which was very tight and showed a little of that butterfly bellybutton ring that I loved- and held a notepad in her hand.

I felt her cool, small hand at the base of my neck before I heard her speak.

"Randy, what's the matter?"

"Tons of shit that keeps piling up on my life. Other than that, fine."

She took a seat next to me, and got us both beers. We talked for what seemed like hours, but that must've been from the alcohol. Before I knew it, I was walking out with her towards the back of the bar.

"Where are we going?" my words were slurred and it was becoming harder and harder for me to see. I tripped over my feet a few times, but Nixie's grip kept me from falling. I had only had two beers…I couldn't be _this_ drunk.

"Don't worry, Randy." She said without looking back. Or maybe she had…I can't remember.

The next thing I knew, I was in the back seat of her car, and Nixie was on top of me. She seemed to shimmer above me, but I was able to catch something that seemed…off. It was her eyes.

Her eyes were silver. Not like a bright gray, but _really _silver. Like a necklace or a ring, _that_ kind of silver. And her voice seemed to change too. It wasn't sweet and kind like before. This time, when she spoke, it made me quiver with fear. Her voice just sounded so…unnatural. So…_demonic._

"I've been wanting you for a long time, Randy. Don't worry…I'll be doing you a favor."

When she smiled, her face took on an ashen-tone to it. It wasn't that natural, honey-rose color that I loved, but a real-ashen color. Her lips changed from full, and pink, to tight and black. When she smiled, her teeth were those of a shark.

I wanted to believe that this was the booze acting on me, but somehow, I knew it wasn't.

She placed her index finger on my shirt, then traced a straight line all the way to my crotch. With a flick of her wrist, my shirt was off. My heart beat fast now, so hard that it hurt my ribs. She tilted her head to one side and licked her lips. I couldn't speak.

"You're going to die now, Randy." She whispered so seductively that it made me want to kiss her.

Then she broke my neck.

I sat up in my bed, screaming at the top of my lungs. Sweat plastered strands of hair to my face, my body reacted as if my heart was racing, and my throat began to hurt.

My door was kicked down, and Adam, Abbey, and Stella ran in. Abbey didn't hesitate; she jumped on my bed and wrapped her thin arms around me.

"Sshh, sshh, its okay, Rosie, its okay." She cooed, and soon my screams turned to moans in the fabric of Abbey's nightgown. Abbey rocked me back and forth gently, and kept telling me that it was alright. One thing about Abbey was that she took care of you until she became a pain. But that only made you love her more.

I couldn't get what I had seen out of me head. Or rather, what I _felt_. I had felt this Randy person _die._ I felt his _fear._ His confusion, his need to just unwind. I felt it all and the worst part, I had seen his murderer. Through all of this, the question _what had_ _happened?_ echoed in my mind.

Once I controlled my breathing, and cleared my eyes, I took in the scene before me.

Abbey was on my bed, wearing a long white night-gown with a red bow at the base of the collar. Her arms were still around me, and her voice in my ear. Adam, with his long blonde hair pulled back with a rubber band, and his crimson wings spread out behind him, stood at the window, his gold eyes scanned the streets around us. He was clad in a stained white t-shirt and gray sweat pants, and his expression was a mix of worry and alertness. Stella, on the other hand, with her shoulder-length fiery red hair, chocolate skin and slight built, wore a Froggy pajama set and fuzzy hot pink slippers. She stood on the other side of Abbey, her gold wings folded gently behind her. But, as much as she tried to hide it, I caught the silver gleam of the dagger she held at her side.

We all had daggers; mine was under my pillow, Abbey's was in her nightstand, of course Stella had hers out, but none of us knew where Adam's was. There were spare daggers hidden throughout the house that we knew of, for security reasons only, but it was where. Adam's kept his that remained a mystery.

"Hey, ya' okay, girl?" Abbey asked, her voice gentle, and full of concern.

I nodded my head.

"So then what with the screamin'?" Stella asked, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Of the four of us, Stella was the oldest; she was twenty-two, Adam was seventeen, I sixteen, Abbey ten.

"I think someone was murdered."

I took them to the church that I saw Randy confess in, followed his scent down the street to the bar, and then went behind that building.

I didn't go one step before I felt an arm across my chest. It was Adam.

"Whatever you saw, you're the only one who saw it. That must mean who ever killed Randy wants something with you." He said slowly, his eyes pleading me to listen to him.

I just wanted that vision out of my head, so I absently nodded my head. Adam ducked around the corner, and we followed, our daggers at the ready.

When I saw Nixie's car aflame, I was sick. Stella held my hair back, and Abbey, reading from my thoughts, went to tell Adam why I suddenly got sick.

On the way here, I tried my hardest to believe that it was a vision of Randy's future that I saw. But so many things were left dangling without answers if that was true: why would I see Randy's future?; why was he murdered?; who was this Nixie? If it proved to be Randy's future, then there was still a chance to save him, right? That was one part of me. Then there was the other part of me that desperately wished that this wasn't real. That my mind was just having a glitch. But when I rounded that corner and saw the proof- both that Randy was already murdered, and that it was _real_- I couldn't take it.

Stella placed a cool hand on my forehead. My eyes were clouded so I couldn't see her expression. I knew she was yelling something to Adam and Abbey, but I couldn't hear. There was this feeling…

Everything was consumed by black.

Chapter Two

Voices faded in and out of my ears. They tickled, and bounced around inside there, then they left, upset that they did not create a response. They would fade away, but it still echoed within my empty mind. I was blank.

I couldn't see anything, or feel. I couldn't smell anything, either. All I could do was lie there and listen. When the voices faded away, and their echo was all that remained, I would give into the blackness, and succumb to whatever took me before.

Something was burning my hand. That is what brought time back to my realization.

How much time had passed? Where was I? What happened? Who was Nixie, and Randy and what had happened? What was burning my hand?

I felt a pressure on my chest, and with all the energy I could conjure up, I opened my eyes.

And saw Nixie right above me.

With movements so sure, and so quick, I reached under my pillow, pulled out my dagger and positioned it under Nixie's neck, just as she placed a knife at my neck. It was a switchblade- its base white, and its blade long, sharp and thin.

She smiled, and I saw the teeth that Randy had seen: white, small and sharp, like a shark. Her lips were black, and her eyes silver.

She bent down to whisper something in my ear, the blade cutting the skin on my throat. "You're not dead yet." She laughed, and then pulled the blade across my throat.

I sat up in my bed, sweat covering my body again, and pulled out my dagger so fast it shocked me.

I scanned the room I was in, and when one of the shadows moved, I moved.

Leaping off the bed, I tackled who ever was hiding there. They're grabbed my arms, and somehow I landed on the floor. The dagger was knocked out of my hand, and my senses began fading out again.

It took me a minute to calm myself and to check my senses. Whatever was wrong with me, it was becoming very infuriating.

"Rosie, it's me…Adam." A gentle voice said.

Tears escaped my eyes as I realized that I almost killed Adam. Okay, infuriating or not, I just couldn't handle it if I had hurt Adam.

"Rosie?"

"Did I hurt you?" I whispered.

Adam laughed, and picked me up to cradle me close to his chest. I could feel the laughter vibrate through him. "I'm fine, you silly girl. It's you I'm worried about."

I had never been in love, but when Adam said those kinds of things to me, it made me feel something I hadn't felt before I died. Stella and Abbey always joked that Adam liked me, but I always blew those things off.

Then he got serious. "You've been out for two days, Rosalyn. We were worried…nothing like this had ever happened before, and to have it happen to you…" his face twisted in pain and worry. Nobody ever uses my full name. Nobody…unless things were really bad…

"I'd rather have it happen to me, then to any one of you." I told him, and he shot me a look of such disbelief and…pain, that it hurt me deep down.

He bowed his head before I could read more into it.

"Why?"

"Because…you guys are my family. I love all of you so much. Stella…she protects all of us; guides us. She keeps us in line and tries to teach us that having a clear mind makes all the difference. Abbey…she's like the little sister I've always wanted. When she gives me a hug…I remember my cousin, Madeline, and how she would hug me that way, and tell me that I was the best cousin in the _world_. And when Abbey hangs out with me, I feel the true friendship that I always wanted before I died. With you, Adam…you're so many things. You make me feel protected…_loved_, and the thing is…I've never felt that before from anyone _but_ my true family. With you guys…I feel things that are totally new to me, and love it. I love being here, and feeling those things.

"But the things…if anything happened to _any _one of you, I couldn't control myself. I'd end up doing something so idiotic and stupid, you guys would have to lock me in the basement. I'd rather have it happen to me a hundred times, then to have it happen _once _to any one of you."

I froze.

I couldn't believe what I just said. It had been something from my true feelings, something I hadn't shone to anyone in the two years I've been here. I was so used to locking up my feelings- like I had done when I was human- that it simply came as an instinct when I came here. But now…it was all out in the open. Even though I had said it, and invaded some personal side of me, I wouldn't take the words back. They would just have to learn to survive on their own and not bottled up inside me anymore.

Adam, whose head had been bowed, looked up. I didn't see when he did it exactly; I had turned my head away from him after I finished. I felt his calloused- yet soft- and gentle index finger turn my head back towards him. Again, when I looked at his face, it was unreadable. I closed my eyes, embarrassed and ashamed that I had thrown all of this at him.

The next thing I knew, his lips were on my forehead. They were so gentle, and so…careful, as if he was afraid that I would break. Who knows, maybe I would.

They were soft, and they lingered there at the place they just touched, before Adam lowered his head to look into my eyes.

"I can bet you that Stella and Abbey feel those exact same things as you, because I do. When you collapsed outside that night behind the bar…I was so worried. Like I said before, nothing like this has every happen before. To any of us. And to have it happen to _you…_" he shook his head, and I saw the glint of a tear by his eye. "Rosie…just promise us that you won't scare us like that again." When he looked back at me, he was smiling just a tiny bit.

"I promise."

After I had said that I wouldn't do that to them again (though I wasn't a hundred percent sure that it _wouldn't_ happen again) Adam got up and helped me up off the floor. Once he was sure I could stand without falling over, he swore.

"What?" I asked, altering my still very weak senses to sense something out of the ordinary. It was as good as having dead batteries in radar.

"I'm sorry." He said, though he had a slight smile that tried to become a full one on his face. "Look in the mirror."

I did what he said skeptically, and walked over to my vanity. What I saw didn't shock me as much as it made me laugh. I was missing a good inch of hair on my right side.

Smiling, I turned to Adam. "You jerk."

"Hey," he said, holding up his hands, palms forward. "_You _came at _me._"

"True, but you didn't have to cut off my hair."

"My blade did it, not me."

"Alright, then give me _your _blade." I said chuckling. I had an idea to fix this little mishap. Hair didn't concern me that much (when I was twelve, I ran off behind my parents' backs and cut off all of my hair, then dyed my new cut jet-black. It was really fun. I ended up looking like a weird goth-pixie.) but I wouldn't go out into the world looking like a goof.

He gave me his blade, confusion plastered all over his expression. His blade was nothing I had ever seen before.

The handle of it had strips of leather wrapped around it, with runes carved into the leather. No…not runes, but _words_, at a closer examination. A small, onyx gem was imbedded into the leather, something that was so different and unique that it took my breath away. The blade itself was as clean as if it were new and it was so sharp that I could cut the hair off a fly and the fly wouldn't even suspect a thing had happened to him.

Adam stepped close to me, his eyes locked on my face, but mine were still centered on the blade.

"It's Latin." He whispered. _"Patronus of Sanctimonia."_

"What does that mean?" I had seen something similar to this on my own dagger, but it couldn't be like _this…_

"It means 'Protecter of Purity'."

"Oh." There was a story to each of our blades-how they were made, where was its origin- but what story? None of us knew. When we woke up after we died, we had a blade in our hands.

Something clicked in my head, and I needed to figure it out.

I smiled, keeping my thoughts to myself. No one can help me on this. I have to do it alone. As much as I wanted Abbey at my side, something deep down told me to do it alone.

I spun on my heels and placed the razor-sharp blade by the section where I lost some hair. I pulled on a chunk of hair, and roughly brought the blade down, so it would have a jagged edge. I was about to do it again when Adam caught my wrist.

"What the hell are ya' doing?"

"What does it look like, silly? I'm fixing the mistake."

"By making it worse?" he said with disbelief.

I sighed. "You boys." And I continued to pull the blade down an additional two times. When I released the chunk of hair I was cutting, I assessed what I had done.

I had cut the hair around the place the hair was originally cut off so it would look like a jagged side-bang. It only went down to my shoulders (thank God) and my hair was unharmed past there. My hair continued to flow in light curls to my waist, still that same dark-brown color that it was before I dyed my hair black that one time. It was nothing special, and I don't see how any boy would like it.

"The things girls can do." Adam laughed, shaking his head, which immediately snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Mm-hm." I said, still looking at my hair. Maybe I should cut it all off, like I did when I was twelve…

"You're beautiful." Adam's voice was so close, it tickled my neck. I gasped at the feeling.

When I turned around, I saw how close Adam really was. We were barely a foot away. He brushed my new side bang behind my ear, his hand still lingering there. I closed my eyes, and felt him lean closer…

The door was thrusted open before anything could happen. Dammit….

Abbey walked in, her head down, but when she caught sight of me, she attacked.

"Rosie!" she yelled, jumping over the bed to hug my waist. Behind my back, I gave Adam his blade back. He took it silently.

"You're okay! You're okay!" she sang, and then smacked Adam on the chest. "Why the hell didn't you tell _me_? I was sitting, _alone_, in my room, _upset_, worried because _my sister_ is sick and we didn't _know_ what was wrong, and here _you_ are, with her, and you don't _bother_ to tell _me_? Did it cross you're _mind_, lover boy, that-"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, girl." Adam said, and she hugged him around his waist. Over her head, he winked at me. I stifled a giggle.

Abbey stood back and took in the scene before her: Adam and I, close together, Adam looking disheveled yet professional, and me, looking shaken, and just a plain mess. She placed a finger on her lips, and cocked her head to the side.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Adam, quick as a whip, clamped a hand over her mouth. He whispered something in her ear, and, with a wink at me, Abbey skipped out of the room. My face must've been a question mark because Adam explained.

"Looking as you do- which isn't a bad thing- I suggest you freshen up, then meet us in the kitchen. I told Abbey to tell Stella to start dinner. I know that you do it every night, but you've been out….and personally I'm starved, so I know you must be."

"Freshen up. Eat. Got it. Anything else?"

"Yeah… I'm glad you're okay, Rosie." He said.

I blushed and whispered a reply (probably a dumb one, no doubt), collected my things, and left to take a shower.

I can tell you one thing: if you're sick, taking a shower is the best prescription. I must've stood there for twenty-minutes, just letting the water run down my back before I did anything.

After feeling like I got some of my senses back and washing up, I got out. I wore my favorite blue t-shirt, and black jogging shorts. Tying my Nikes, I felt a sharp pain coarse through my spine. It immediately straightened me up, almost smacking my head on the porcelain sink.

The fire went away for a moment, then returned with such a force, that it knocked the breath out of me. Realization hit me that it was my wings I was feeling. Without another thought, they stretched out, touching the sides of the bathroom.

They gently pulsed behind me as I applied a bit of make-up on my face. Dark circles were one thing that nearly drove me insane.

But when I was applying masquera, I saw something that was strange. I put down the make-up and glanced at my inner right wrist. I gasped.

There looked to be a black stain right over my vein. When I noticed it and stretched out my wrist- hoping it was a trick of light- it spread. It was like ink was in my veins, and it traveled up my arm and ended by the crease of my elbow. I was about to call Adam in here to help when fire coursed through the ink.

It wasn't like the fire I felt when my wings needed to come out- like a soft, gentle fire- this was like forcedly having to put your hand in a flame; I couldn't stop it. It coursed through my vein, past my shoulder, and into my heart. It seemed like I was dying…no, like being _shot._

Memories of my killer…pulling the trigger…the fire that coursed through me then….came back, and caused the room to start shimmering…tell someone…tell _Adam_….

But I didn't. I kept my mouth shut. Just like with the words on Adam's dagger, this needed to be kept a secret.

Biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, and breathing deeply through my nose, I waited until the fire ended. It lasted about as long as being shot…once…twice…three times before the fire ceased.

I winced at the thought and the fire ended completely. I exhaled, my shoulders slumping forward. I glanced back at my wrist and saw nothing. I threw my make-up into the drawer and got out of there. It wouldn't change that I was out of the bathroom; whatever happened just now, happened inside of _me._

Was I dying? No, I already died. Then why was this happening? The vision…the pain and blackness….the dream…

_The dream_. Nixie said that I wasn't dead yet.

But I died. Two years ago. On December 22, under a street lamp, on a bed of snow, on the dock of Navy Pier. But then, why would she say that I wasn't dead yet?

If I wasn't an angel, and if I'm not dead yet…then what I'm I?

"It's not as good as yours- because I don't know the recipes, no doubt- but it's the best I could do." Stella said, placing plates in front of us. It looked to be spaghetti, with marinara sauce, cheese and…from the smell, garlic. I took a bite and smiled.

"You got everything correct, Stele." Adam and Abbey nodded in agreement, scarfing down the spaghetti at the table. Stele and I leaned on the counter, and ate, away from the mayhem at the very small table.

"Well, I've been watching you do it, for-like-_eva. _I'm no cook like you, though. Say, how did ya' learn?"

"Exactly how you learn to do this. I watched, and helped and soon, it all ended up here." I said, tapping my temple with my finger. Stele laughed.

"You got me so scared that I must've white, girl."

"Well, don't worry 'bout that because you're still got the color of beautiful milk chocolate."

"Thanks, but….I thought I lost ya'." She whispered, and my heart clenched.

"Oh, Stele…" I said, holding her hand across the counter. She looked up and I saw that she was crying- just the teensiest bit, though.

"I'm glad you're back, Rosie." We continued to speak in hushed tones.

"Well, I'm not sure I'll continue to _be_ back, Stella."

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

"What happened when we rounded the corner behind the bar?" when I said that, my wings shivered a little.

"Honey, you got sick when you saw the car. Abbey told me why, and I told her to inform Adam. When she was talking to him, I felt your forehead for a fever- just like what I would if you were human- and you were burnin' up. I called Adam and Abbey over to help, and you passed out. Adam caught you before you were able to hit the ground. He was so worried. He carried you home, and took you to your bed, but we didn't know what to do.

"Adam said we should call James, and Steve in Brooklyn to come over, but Abbey and I didn't want _those _two angels here. Just the thought…_yuck_. So we kept a cold rag on your head, and took turns watching you in case of any change. Abbey and I only watched you for a bit, though. Adam said that he would. I'm surprised he doesn't fall over from exhaustion right now."

We both glanced at Adam with his long blonde hair, and crimson wings, just eating spaghetti. If he was exhausted, he sure didn't show it.

"Thanks." I whispered. Stella smiled. "And I agree with you, I wouldn't want James or Steve here either. Well, maybe just Steve."

James and Steve were brothers; killed by an on-coming truck in the summer of 1989. They mostly stay in their area- an old museum on the far side of Brooklyn, but occasionally, they would come up here to see us. Steve was tall, and with a medium built, and sported a

short, black crew cut. He was always nice to me; bringing me books or perfume from Victoria Secret's. He brought things for Abbey and Stella, too. For Abbey, it was instrumental music. For Stella, it was the same as me- books, and perfume. But she didn't take them. She always thought that he was trying to _buy_ her trust. She said he would have to earn it. Now I agree with her, but just the way Steve _is_…it would be very hard _not_ to trust him.

Now with James, he's an ass, in no other words. He has the same features as Steve- medium built, black crew cut- only he wears his features cold, hard and mean. And for no reason. He tried to make a move on me- which, considering the fact that he's thirty and Steve's twenty-eight- I immediately stayed away from him. He tried again, and Adam almost broke his nose. So he always has it out for me, but Stella's got it worse. I'm not worried though; she can pack a harder punch then Adam on any given day.

We both shook our heads, trying to clear them from the brothers' _last_ visit.

"Anyhoo, ya' sure you're okay, Rosie?"

"Not…one hundred percent sure."

"Well, just know that we will be keepin' an eye on you."

"Ah, Stele, please…don't."

"Why?" she asked, worry filling her eyes.

"'Cause you guys don't need to worry 'bout me. I'll be fine. Really." I smiled and hoped that she would believe it.

She didn't and said that they would continue to watch over me until they were positive that I was fine.

That could take awhile. Not to mention that I don't think I'll _ever_ be better. Whatever's wrong with me, I doubt it'll go away in just a couple of days. I think there's something very wrong with me.

Chapter Three

Light streamed into the library, happy, cheerful, and bright. Not at all what I felt.

My wings fluttered in frustration as I examined my dagger. _Again._

Its base was onyx black, hard and smooth. It had no strips of worn leather wrapped around it; its blade was not new or as sharp as Adam's. But it was different, alright.

The handle was hard and smooth, made from onyx stone. It curved and perfectly fit the shape of my right hand; it was non-slip, though by the look of it, you would think in would slide right out. Right before the curved, gold metal that held the blade, was a diamond. Expertly craved as an octagon, though it was not made by man, it was nestled into the onyx handle. Underneath the diamond, carved in flowing cursive, were words. Words I didn't have a clue stood for.

Its blade was sliver, with white words- the same words that were carved into the handle- wrapping around, causing light to reflect off of them. I remembered when I woke up after I died, that my palm was cut, flowing a light stream of blood into the carvings on the blade. The blood had flown easily in the carving, highlighting the words, making them known. I had felt a surge of pure power through me, then my wings came from my back. I had thought that the surge of power was merely from my wings- new, and glorious- but now…I was skeptical.

I read the words over in my head:

_Putus Animi; Putus Quisnam in Salus Orior Oriri Ortus _

The words flowed easily in my mind, like they've been created to be said by me only. They way they flowed…it was like water in a stream. Clear, pure, and free, flowing easily through the stream, becoming one with everything around them, and shinning to its fullest, the water would go about its ways, like the words in my mind. The water flowed in places that were made for only water travel; the words danced in my mind, a space occupied by my feelings and thoughts. They were alike so many ways, though…deep down, I knew this was not nearly a good description for these words. They had no description, for nothing could exactly describe them.

I got up, placed my dagger back in its holder that hung on my waist, and folded my wings gently behind me, centering my thoughts on serenity and calmness. They seemed to sigh in relief when they folded behind me, their feathers- soft as cotton, smooth as silk- brushed my back. I smiled.

I went to the closest bookshelf, and searched its titles: _History of the Ancient Romans, History of the Greeks, History of the Languages. _Some covers were leather; others were made with thick, white parchment. The _History of the Languages _volume was made of thick black leather, its title highlighted by gold leafing. There was no author, and the information of its origins were ripped out, except for a small part that said it was made it Italy.

Hmm, strange that we would have a book of _History of the Languages_, but it came in handy now.

Flipping through the pages fast enough to get dizzy from its words, I came to a stop on the page that talked about Latin. I didn't really care who spoke it, or that it was a base language (though I already knew that) it was the translation part of that was the most informational. It didn't help at all though; the origins of this book were in Italy, so the translation was in, of course, Italian.

Realization hit me like lighting. It was the twenty-first century; we had internet access. Why didn't I go there before I looked up this dinosaur of a book?

Placing the book at the end of the computer table, I logged into the internet, went to Google and found Latin translation into English faster than it took me to think of which book would even contain anything on Latin.

Scrolling down, ignoring the history of the webpage, and its owner, I found the little box that said, "Translate Latin into English for Free!" Why would people pay for translation? I typed in the words, and waited as the computer came up with my answer.

The words on my dagger stood for: _Pure at Heart; Pure who in Salvation Rises. _

What did that mean?

My mind jumped back to Adam's dagger- _Patronus of Sanctimonia, _Protecter of Purity; his dagger had been made to symbolize him. But _mine _said Pure at Heart, something that was made to symbolize _me_…could that mean that _he_ was supposed to protect _me_? Protecter of Purity, and my dagger spoke of Purity…but I couldn't be. I wasn't pure, at least, not in my mind. But…what if there was reason? Everything was made, or had been done for a reason, right?

I laughed at that outrageous thought; we had all died, we weren't sent here to protect something or whatever I was implying. Our daggers symbolized us, maybe before I died, whoever made it thought I was pure.

I laughed again. I was beginning to sound very stupid. My laughter echoed in the walls of the library.

The library was something magnificent: high arches that crossed the ceiling, bookcases as old as this building, and a simplicity feel that made it seem that you were in some place important. Soft, ruby couches and love-seats were placed around the honey-glow of the ever burning fire. I would come in at midnight, and the fire would be burning as if it was just started.

Placing my elbows on the dark, polished wood of the table, I rested my head in my hands. So many things were more important than _this_; who cared what or daggers said? I should've been thinking about Nixie and why she had done that than worrying about this small problem. Hell, it wasn't even a problem.

Confusion, anger and frustration consumed my emotions, causing my wings to open widely and create a dome around me, gently curling its edges around my body. Their soft, blue-silver feathers felt the emotions that swirled around in me. They felt things and reacted to them: when I cried, their feathers would be tinged with wetness. When I was angry, they stood out straight and became sharp, daring anyone to mess with me. When I wanted to be alone, or concentrate, they understood; they'd folded gently behind me with a slight note of reminding me that they we there, forever and whenever I needed them.

But I wasn't in the mood to be comforted. Sighing, I placing the book back on its right shelf, and walked out.

The hall was silent, and the candle glow reacted oddly against the stone walls. Stella had found this library below the orphanage (we lived in the levels of an abandoned one on the outskirts of Chicago) when she had came here six years ago. Adam followed two years later, then Abbey after four. I joined them the most recently, but they always overlooked that. Stella wasn't big on reading; nor Abbey. It was Adam and I who read the most, and who occupied the library.

There hadn't been any lighting down these halls leading to the library, but Adam- sort of being the man of the house- was quick to jump on that project. He carved little holes in the stone walls big enough for a medium-sized candle. Like the fire, the candles never seemed to die out.

I wondered absently, as I closed the metal gate in the old, rickety elevator, if it was a Holy presence that made the fires burn endlessly…

The elevator made its way to the surface slowly, the air quiet around me. It gave me time to breathe a sigh. Sometimes it was best to let things play out on their own; which is what I exactly planned to do about "our daggers history" subject. Right now, my main priority was finding out why Nixie killed and why I was seeing the murders and no one else.

And apparently, Adam was a main priority as well.

He had been distant, almost ignoring me, after what happened in the kitchen with Stella. Had he heard our conversation? If so, why was he acting the way he was? None of it made since as to why he receded to even make eye contact with me. But today seemed to be a different story all together.

Arms crossed over his chest- showing the marvelous muscles that wrapped around his arms- with his crimsons wings spread out fully behind him, he stood at the door of the elevator when it came to ground leave. His face was expressionless, but his jaw was set hard; there was no way I was escaping him tonight. But what was the point? I was better and I wanted to nip this priority in the butt.

The creaky, metal door slid out of the way slowly, causing the tension in the air to harden. I lifted my chin high and stood my ground.

And we started at each other, our gazes hard and serious. It seemed endless, and yet, I felt my senses melt under his gaze, but I refused them to melt under his gaze _in front _of him. I would not show him any of my weakness. We were the same, and yet, it seemed we disagreed on everything now.

He spoke first.

"Rosalyn-"

"Stop. You know never to call me by my full name." I snapped, and his gaze broke a fraction, but he regained it quickly. Too late, I thought bitterly.

"Fine. _Rosie…_why does it seem that you hate me?"

That stopped me completely, and broke my gaze (as well feelings) in a million, tiny glass shards. They cut my wounded heart and caused my pervious wounds to bleed. I tried to regain it, but the worst part, I couldn't get a hold of it anymore. I was weak; useless; and now trapped by him.

I wasn't the only one though; when mine shattered, his broke. His chest and shoulders sagged, his eyes became soft, and he extended a hand as if to take mine. But when I remained frozen, it dropped at his side uselessly.

This time, I was the first to speak.

"Adam, I… I don't hate you. You just seemed so…distance lately." My voice was barely a whisper.

A dozen emotions flashed across his face, but then, as if remembering why he came here in the first place, he face became hard once more. Without another word, he turned, and walked down the hall heading towards the kitchen.

My wings seemed to sag and weigh a hundred pounds- a hundred pounds that pulled my back to the lowest pits of the earth. Unwanted, salty tears traveled down my cheeks, and frankly, I didn't care.

I crumpled on the floor of the elevator, and my wings became blankets over me. I stayed that way until Stella found me. She almost died of a heart attack at the sight of my, on the floor, looking like a pretty dead girl.

"Damn girl! Wanna kill me or somethin'?" she said, hand on hips. She must've gotten a better look because she knelt down, her hands shaking. "Oh God, not another vision."

I found my voice and spoke. "Not visions…boy troubles." Boy was that a lie. This was more than boy troubles.

Stella nearly died of laughter as she helped me to my feet. "Alrighty, girl, I know what you need. Come on, let's get outta here."

"Where-where are we going?"

"My room. We're havin' girls night tonight."

Who knew girls night helped with boys so much?

Stella did my toe nails, and I brushed her hair. We listened to Eminem, singing and cussing our angers and fears out. We giggled, drank beer, smoked, talked, everything a teenage girl would do.

"Now, what's with Adam?" Stella asked, after my toes glisten the color of Crushed Crimson.

"Ugh…freakin' migraines are the worst. First, my car breaks down. Then, I loose the promotion in work. Mike cancels on the date tonight. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Okay, stupid, talking out loud won't change anything." I pushed my hair back, and sighed when the wind blew it forward again. Pausing to find a rubber band in the God-awful mess that is (unfortunately) my purse, I just realized something.

Swearing out loud, I began running towards my apartment duplex. Taking the stairs two at a time, I run down the hall to my door, thrust my key in the lock, and turn the handle.

Only to realize that I've been locked out.

"No, no, no! This can't be happening!" I bang my head into the door, and cry and swear; knowing none of this would help. I'm a freakin' twenty-two year old that blows her paycheck on partying and stupid things and I can't even remember to pay the God-damned rent?

My neighbor, a girl who goes by the name of Nixie and who is never around, came out. She was wearing a pair of bleach-washed skinny jeans, black Converse shoes and a Rolling Stones t-shirt. Her hair was blonde, with red streaks in it. Strange, I remembered her having, ah, what was it? Copper Sunset? I think that was it. I remembered her having that color of hair, not blonde. Oh, well, people can change, right? She had her purse in the crease of her left elbow as she tried to lock her door. The locks in this place are as crappy as my responsibility level.

Probably wondering who the idiot was who was making all the noise, had to be her thought right about now, no doubt.

"Um, Renee…shouldn't you go to the manager if your door doesn't open?" she chuckled. It was a light joke; she said it as she locked her own door. Guess the lock caught, 'cause she was about to leave. But at a second glance at me, she froze. Then she moved, comin over to place a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, come on, its okay." She said, soothingly, guiding me toward her apartment. Nixie opened the door for me, and I walked in.

It was like any other apartment: TV, couch, bathroom straight ahead, kitchen on the left, one room on the right. She had a bookcase- which was lined with thick volumes. The furniture was black leather; a little on the expensive side for a bar waitress. By hey, it was none of my business.

"Watch TV if you want. Sorry, it'll probably be Criminal Minds. I love that show." Nixie said with an apologetic smile.

"No, that's okay. I like that show, anyway." I lied and Nixie smiled, disappearing into the kitchen.

"Shouldn't you be at work Nixie?"

"Naw, I had my vacation hours stacked up, so I took this week off. I was just leaving to get some groceries."

"I'm so sorry about this Nixie. I-"

"Now, don't you be all sorry on me. You can stay here until you get that apartment of yours back, understand?"

Nixie popped her head out from around the corner. I always envied her for that honey-color her skin always had, for her long, straight, silky blonde hair, and perfect body. But now, she's just a sweet girl. Her gray eyes bore into mine, almost telling me not to disagree with what she had said.

I laughed. "Sure. Thank you, Nixie."

She nodded her head, and within a minute I heard the banging of pots being dragged out.

After a couple minutes, though, as the painfully boring show (at least in my eyes) dragged on, I got up to offer if she wanted any help.

"Um…sure." She said glancing around the kitchen while stirring a pot of noodles. "Yeah, could you run to the store? That way, I can finish dinner and make the guest room for ya'."

"Sure. You got a guest room? I thought this floor only had one-room apartments."

"Oh, the manager said that it was a mess-up in the blue-printing of the place when it was built. He said rent was only a hundred more, so I took it."

"Oh, so what do ya' need me to get?" I asked, not really caring how this freakin' place was built fifty or so years ago.

Nixie wrote a quick list, gave me thirty-bucks, and the keys to her car. She was pulling her hair into a ponytail when I spoke.

"How…how did you know I didn't own a car?" I asked slowly.

She smiled brightly, showing straight white teeth. "Oh, when I leave for work every night, I always see you walking. I figured that you didn't own a car…do you? I'm sorry, I-"

"No, it's okay." I stopped her before she could say anything else. "I don't have a car. I just thought you were stalking me or something." I laughed at how stupid _that_ sounded. Nixie laughed with me.

"For a second, I though you were angry with me."

"Oh, I can't stay mad at you, Nixie. I'll be back in a half hour. Hour tops." I yelled over my shoulder as I walked out of the apartment.

In a half-hour, just as I said, I was back walking up the stairs to Nixie's place. I banged on the door with my knee, since my hands were full. I had a strange thought of using my head to knock, but then I thought about it again, and realized that I must be a moron.

Nixie opened the door, instantly taking the groceries outta my hands.

"Thanks a bunch, Renee."

"Hey, you're the one letting me stay here, so shouldn't I be thanking you?"

"Nope, because I believe that if you do good to others out of the kindness of your heart, then good will come to you." She said proudly as she took the food out of the paper bag.

"Isn't that called…ugh, what was it called? Mar- no,-"

"It's called karma, silly." Nixie said chuckling. God, more proof of me being a moron. "Need any help?"

"Noooo…dinner will be ready in about five minutes. I laid out some pj's on the guest bed for ya', so you can change if you want."

"Thanks, Nix, and…I think I will."

"The guest room is to the left of the living room."

"Got it."

It wasn't hard to find the room (if it was, then I must be slow.) The pj's fit me perfect, and there was a brush on one of the dressers. I pulled my hair of out the loose bun I pulled it in when I left for the groceries.

Brushing my hair always felt nice to me, even when I was a little girl. My hair wasn't the perfect strawberry-blonde that Nixie had; it was just a plain blonde that always seemed to frizz up in the summer and dry-out in the winter. It was a pain to have this length of hair- it just hung to the top of my breasts. Guys always noticed me for my boobs, never my personality or charm. They just figure, "Oh, she a dumb blonde, that'll be an easy win." That's what always happens.

In the dim light from the lamp on the night stand, I saw myself as one of those weird paintings that always showed the person from a small candle light. Their best features were brought out from the little light and their worse were hidden by the shadows. The women in those paintings were always beautiful because they were _made_ to be beautiful. As for me, I was made just to be a toy. Nothing more, but certainly, something much less. I would never been seen as a loving, trustful housewife. No, just a dumb blonde that the guys can easily screw.

Before I could think of any other things about myself, there was a light tap at the door, and Nixie let herself in.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, closing the door behind her. Her back was pressed up against the door and in the dim light, I could just make out the shape of clothing she was wearing: blue cotton shorts, and a gray tank-top. Her hair was down and falling over her shoulders, down to her waist.

"For what, Nixie?"

"What I'm about to do." She smiled when she said this, and I heard the silent click as she locked the door.

Nixie stepped forward, and I realized that her eyes had changed color. They weren't the caring, gentle gray I remember from before; they were silver. Like a new dime or quarter. _That_ kind of silver. There was this pull I was feeling towards her…because of those eyes…

"You're gonna lay on the bed now." She said, still smiling and her face began to change as she took another step forward.

The honey-color of her skin was replaced by an ash color- the kind of color a corpse has, though her skin was still youthful. Her full, rosy lips that were always smiling brightly became stained with this black-ink. It traveled over her lips, staining them black, but none of it dripped off her lips, like real ink would. When her smile widened, I saw that her straight, white teeth were replaced, too. Her teeth were those of an alligator's or a shark's. Without touching them, I knew that they would be very, very sharp.

"You're not going to be afraid. You going to do as I say." She said slowly, and I got up, walked towards the bed, and lied down on my back. She closed the space between us slowly, causing my heart to race, though I didn't feel any fear.

"Nixie…what are you doing?" I asked slowly and careful, my jagged breaths interrupting me.

"Sshh, you're not going to speak now. Just…listen.

"I know how you feel about those men. What they want from you: sex, money, more sex. They think of you as a pawn that they can play whenever they feel like. They don't see your true side: how you're kind, and sweet and loving. How you want nothing more for a guy to respect you. How you want to be that loving, carefree, respected mother, with a husband and children. That's all you really want, isn't it Renee? For someone to love you?"

She was telling me my feelings. She was telling me my dreams and hopes and frustrations. How did Nixie know all of this, though? I hadn't told anyone. I kept these things to myself and myself only. _That's_ why I partied so much. Drank. Smoked. Blew my money on stupid things. Because of those f_eelings_.

Nixie climbed on the bed to hover over me while she was talking. She was only balancing her weight with her left arm; her right arm was behind her back.

"I know you, Renee. I feel those things, too. That's they key, don't you know? In order to feel love itself, we have to _have_ love; _experience_ it. Don't worry; you won't be in pain anymore."

Before I could protest, Nixie was kissing me.

What the hell?

Was Nixie telling me that she was gay? But the way she said those things….how she changed…how her eyes made me feel things…and I how I didn't feel that this was that entirely of what she wanted…

Nixie laughed, and lowered her head to my eyelevel. "How your mind is so beautiful, Renee." She pulled her right arm from behind her back to reveal a steak knife.

That's when I began screaming.

But nothing happened. No sound was made. It was as if I had been turned to mute.

Nixie smiled and traced the knife down the side of my face, hard enough to draw a line of blood. Oh, I felt the pain, and continued to scream, but nothing happened. Nixie was unfazed.

"You're going to die now, Renee." Nixie whispered.

And then she stabbed the knife into my heart.

I squeezed my eyes shut as the vision faded out and as my right wrist continue to burn like hell. I could barely feel Adam's arms around me, or Stella's hand on my forehead- hell, I could barely feel _my_ grip on the counter.

When the fire ended, and my sight came back into focus, so did the rest of my sense. The first- and quickest- was my hearing.

"Rosalyn, please, _please_, talk to me."

Adam.

"Maybe we should bring her back to her room. That would be the safest place…I think."

Stella.

"No, it's all in her mind. She can't escape this. Whatever's happening is happening in her mind. There's no way we can protect her. We're useless. Oh, I hope she'll be okay."

Abbey.

I tried my damndest to move, to show them some sign that I was okay, but I couldn't. I was useless. So much for my senses.

"Me, too, Abbey." Stella whispered and I lightly felt the pressure on my hand.

"What happened? _Why_ is this happening?" Adam's worried voice now took on a sharp edge to it.

I knew what had happened. Someone died. _Again._ And there was no way of stopping it. Nixie killed Renee, just like she had with Randy a week ago.

Why? Why was I seeing this? Why did my wrist burn at the though of Nixie? Why are people dying because of her? And what did she mean by that dream? A dream that continues to haunt me at night and refuses to be locked away in the dim-memory part of my mind. What is so important with me? Why am I the only one who can see these…_visions_?

My eyes fluttered the tiniest bit as I regained my senses back fully. Adam's arms tightened and I felt him sigh in relief.

"_Rosalyn_." The way he said my name…it was as if he was a parent who had just saw their child be brought back from the dead. His voice was filled with so much true relief and…_love,_ that I found the will to open my eyes fully.

Adam's face was the closest to mine, his features like aloe to my burned senses. There were tears in his eyes, lightly glistening in the light that reflected around the room from the fire. He held me gently, my head coming to a rest on his shoulder. He was on the ground, his back propped up against the couch. Abbey and Stella were above his head, kneeing on the couch. There were tears in their eyes as well.

"I'm…" I took a deep breathe and cleared my throat. "I'm fine…just another one."

"This time was worse, Rosie." Whispered Abbey, her voice thick. Her gold eyes were focused on my face, scanning them for anyway to get past them, and into my mind.

I felt her light touch in my mind- almost like a breeze. I wrapped around, wanting to find a crevasse or opening in the block to get in. I tried to bring the block down, but couldn't. It wasn't my mental block to take down. After a moment, though, it came down reluctantly, and I felt myself breathe a sigh of relief. That was what took most of my senses away; that mental block that was not formed by me.

"Worse is an understatement, Abbey, doll. Girl, you were having a…heart attack or somethin'. Your face was blue, your back kept arching, your eyes rolled up inside here-" she gestured to her temple in an effort to make us laugh. We did, or, at least Abbey and I did. "All the clear signs of one, only ya' weren't awake. Can somethin' like that really happen? A heart attack in your sleep?" Stella thought about that for a moment, but it could only hold her attention for so long.

"What happened?" Adam said, his voiced hard, and cold. Not in a mean way, but in a way that hid what he was really feeling.

I went on to explain about Renee and Nixie, getting colder and colder by each sentence. She was killing. And making me part-take in watching. Why? _Why?_

I knew that Renee was dead, with no chance of being saved. I knew that if we went there, all evidence of the murder would be gone; hell, all evidence that she even _existed _would be gone. Renee was just like Randy: killed by Nixie, for no reason, never to be seen again.

But I couldn't get the memory of her out of my head. She had been so _normal._ Felt things normal women feel: loss, rejection, heart-break. She went home, and was faced by a normal obstacle: forgetting to pay the rent, and what its result was. Renee had though Nixie was being nice; but all that crap about "doing good to others out of the kindness of your heart" was just a lie. A lie to hind the fact that Nixie killed. But why? Wasn't that the most important question: _why?_

I also told them about her new look: strawberry blonde hair, rocker-style. What good would that do, though? We weren't cops; we couldn't go out and put search warrants for her. Nixie would get away with the murders without being chastised, even.

I could only say so much before I felt the effect of this vision. I needed to sleep. Stella insisted that I ate something and Abbey said that they should keep an eye on me. I waved their concerns off, telling them I was fine; that I didn't need all this un-needed attention.

But no matter how much I said to Abbey and Stella, that wouldn't get me out of confronting Adam.

Walking down the dimly-lit hall of our rooms, he cornered me. Turning me around, pressing me flat against the wall, and placing his hands on either side of my face on the wall to keep me from moving, he spoke.

He didn't speak at first though; his gold eyes just searched mine, showing me things that his mouth could not describe to me in words; confusion, worry, pain, and maybe…_love?_

Why did I always think that I saw love mixed in with his expressions? Adam was a hard boy who died in a way that made him skeptical to trust anyone. He barely talked to me before; just curious glances and sly small talk over dinner. That was it. No traces of love, or worry or concern.

Adam kept those emotions locked inside him under a promise never to show anyone- a promise he made to himself. He was careful on how he expressed things around the three of us. It was on rare occasions of passing his room that I saw glimpses of his true self: a boy who taught himself to play the cello and who read the Bible in candle light against his pillows. A boy who would spend hours on end in the library, reading volume after volume, never seeming to tire. A boy who would just sit, and gaze at the fire, or out his window for hours, just thinking, concentrating or maybe reliving something. I would idiotically stand behind him or by his door watching, until I felt the light nudge by my Sight to move before he saw.

That was the boy I saw. That was the thought I had about him when I would lay awake, staring at the ceiling, multiple things dancing within my mind, waiting their turns to be thought and dreamt about.

As much as I wanted to say something to him, I couldn't. I just wanted to sleep, and not have the up-tight feeling that I have to figure everything out this very minute.

Slipping under his arm, I stumbled a few steps ahead, further going into the darkness that consumed my room.

I heard no sound. He was not going to follow me.

Glancing over my shoulder, careful as to not to have him see the tears that traveled down my cheeks, I spoke. But it came out as a broken, tattered whisper. "I'm so sorry, Adam."

Then I ran to my room.

Closed the door. Locked it.

And cried the rest of the night.

For everything.

Chapter Four

Light streamed into the library, happy, cheerful, and bright. Not at all what I felt.

My wings fluttered in frustration as I examined my dagger. _Again._

Its base was onyx black, hard and smooth. It had no strips of worn leather wrapped around it; its blade was not new or as sharp as Adam's. But it was different, alright.

The handle was hard and smooth, made from onyx stone. It curved and perfectly fit the shape of my right hand; it was non-slip, though by the look of it, you would think in would slide right out. Right before the curved, gold metal that held the blade, was a diamond. Expertly craved as an octagon, though it was not made by man, it was nestled into the onyx handle. Underneath the diamond, carved in flowing cursive, were words. Words I didn't have a clue stood for.

Its blade was sliver, with white words- the same words that were carved into the handle- wrapping around, causing light to reflect off of them. I remembered when I woke up after I died, that my palm was cut, flowing a light stream of blood into the carvings on the blade. The blood had flown easily in the carving, highlighting the words, making them known. I had felt a surge of pure power through me, then my wings came from my back. I had thought that the surge of power was merely from my wings- new, and glorious- but now…I was skeptical.

I read the words over in my head:

_Putus Animi; Putus Quisnam in Salus Orior Oriri Ortus _

The words flowed easily in my mind, like they've been created to be said by me only. They way they flowed…it was like water in a stream. Clear, pure, and free, flowing easily through the stream, becoming one with everything around them, and shinning to its fullest, the water would go about its ways, like the words in my mind. The water flowed in places that were made for only water travel; the words danced in my mind, a space occupied by my feelings and thoughts. They were alike so many ways, though…deep down, I knew this was not nearly a good description for these words. They had no description, for nothing could exactly describe them.

I got up, placed my dagger back in its holder that hung on my waist, and folded my wings gently behind me, centering my thoughts on serenity and calmness. They seemed to sigh in relief when they folded behind me, their feathers- soft as cotton, smooth as silk- brushed my back. I smiled.

I went to the closest bookshelf, and searched its titles: _History of the Ancient Romans, History of the Greeks, History of the Languages. _Some covers were leather; others were made with thick, white parchment. The _History of the Languages _volume was made of thick black leather, its title highlighted by gold leafing. There was no author, and the information of its origins were ripped out, except for a small part that said it was made it Italy.

Hmm, strange that we would have a book of _History of the Languages_, but it came in handy now.

Flipping through the pages fast enough to get dizzy from its words, I came to a stop on the page that talked about Latin. I didn't really care who spoke it, or that it was a base language (though I already knew that) it was the translation part of that was the most informational. It didn't help at all though; the origins of this book were in Italy, so the translation was in, of course, Italian.

Realization hit me like lighting. It was the twenty-first century; we had internet access. Why didn't I go there before I looked up this dinosaur of a book?

Placing the book at the end of the computer table, I logged into the internet, went to Google and found Latin translation into English faster than it took me to think of which book would even contain anything on Latin.

Scrolling down, ignoring the history of the webpage, and its owner, I found the little box that said, "Translate Latin into English for Free!" Why would people pay for translation? I typed in the words, and waited as the computer came up with my answer.

The words on my dagger stood for: _Pure at Heart; Pure who in Salvation Rises. _

What did that mean?

My mind jumped back to Adam's dagger- _Patronus of Sanctimonia, _Protecter of Purity; his dagger had been made to symbolize him. But _mine _said Pure at Heart, something that was made to symbolize _me_…could that mean that _he_ was supposed to protect _me_? Protecter of Purity, and my dagger spoke of Purity…but I couldn't be. I wasn't pure, at least, not in my mind. But…what if there was reason? Everything was made, or had been done for a reason, right?

I laughed at that outrageous thought; we had all died, we weren't sent here to protect something or whatever I was implying. Our daggers symbolized us, maybe before I died, whoever made it thought I was pure.

I laughed again. I was beginning to sound very stupid. My laughter echoed in the walls of the library.

The library was something magnificent: high arches that crossed the ceiling, bookcases as old as this building, and a simplicity feel that made it seem that you were in some place important. Soft, ruby couches and love-seats were placed around the honey-glow of the ever burning fire. I would come in at midnight, and the fire would be burning as if it was just started.

Placing my elbows on the dark, polished wood of the table, I rested my head in my hands. So many things were more important than _this_; who cared what or daggers said? I should've been thinking about Nixie and why she had done that than worrying about this small problem. Hell, it wasn't even a problem.

Confusion, anger and frustration consumed my emotions, causing my wings to open widely and create a dome around me, gently curling its edges around my body. Their soft, blue-silver feathers felt the emotions that swirled around in me. They felt things and reacted to them: when I cried, their feathers would be tinged with wetness. When I was angry, they stood out straight and became sharp, daring anyone to mess with me. When I wanted to be alone, or concentrate, they understood; they'd folded gently behind me with a slight note of reminding me that they we there, forever and whenever I needed them.

But I wasn't in the mood to be comforted. Sighing, I placing the book back on its right shelf, and walked out.

The hall was silent, and the candle glow reacted oddly against the stone walls. Stella had found this library below the orphanage (we lived in the levels of an abandoned one on the outskirts of Chicago) when she had came here six years ago. Adam followed two years later, then Abbey after four. I joined them the most recently, but they always overlooked that. Stella wasn't big on reading; nor Abbey. It was Adam and I who read the most, and who occupied the library.

There hadn't been any lighting down these halls leading to the library, but Adam- sort of being the man of the house- was quick to jump on that project. He carved little holes in the stone walls big enough for a medium-sized candle. Like the fire, the candles never seemed to die out.

I wondered absently, as I closed the metal gate in the old, rickety elevator, if it was a Holy presence that made the fires burn endlessly…

The elevator made its way to the surface slowly, the air quiet around me. It gave me time to breathe a sigh. Sometimes it was best to let things play out on their own; which is what I exactly planned to do about "our daggers history" subject. Right now, my main priority was finding out why Nixie killed and why I was seeing the murders and no one else.

And apparently, Adam was a main priority as well.

Arms crossed over his chest- showing the marvelous muscles that wrapped around his arms- with his crimsons wings spread out fully behind him, he stood at the door of the elevator when it came to ground leave. His face was expressionless, but his jaw was set hard; there was no way I was escaping him tonight. But what was the point? I was better and I wanted to nip this priority in the butt.

The creaky, metal door slid out of the way slowly, causing the tension in the air to harden. I lifted my chin high and stood my ground.

And we started at each other, our gazes hard and serious. It seemed endless, and yet, I felt my senses melt under their gaze. I refused them to melt under his gaze _in front _of him. I would not show him any of my weakness. We were the same, and yet, it seemed we disagreed on everything now.

He spoke first.

"Rosalyn-"

"Stop. You know never to call me by my full name." I snapped, and his gaze broke a fraction, but he regained it quickly. Too late, I thought bitterly.

"Fine. _Rosie…_why does it seem that you hate me?"

That stopped me completely, and broke my gaze (as well feelings) in a million, tiny glass shards. And the worst part, I couldn't get a hold of it anymore.

I wasn't the only one though; when mine shattered, his broke. His chest and shoulders sagged, his eyes became soft, and he extended a hand as if to take mine. But when I remained frozen, it dropped at his side uselessly.

This time, I was the first to speak.

"Adam, I… I don't hate you. You just seemed so…distance lately." My voice was barely a whisper.

A dozen emotions flashed across his face, but then, as if remembering why he came here in the first place, he face became hard once more. Without another word, he turned, and walked down the hall heading towards the kitchen.

My wings seemed to sag and weight a hundred pounds that pulled my back to the lowest pits of the earth. Unwanted, salty tears traveled down my cheeks, and frankly, I didn't care.

I crumpled on the floor of the elevator, and my wings became blankets over me. I stayed that way until Stella found me. She almost died of a heart attack.

"Damn girl! Wanna kill me or somethin'?" she said, hand on hips. She must've gotten a better look because she knelt down, her hands shaking. "Oh God, not another vision."

I found my voice and spoke. "Not visions…boy troubles." Boy was that a lie. This was more than boy troubles.

Stella nearly died of laughter as she helped me to my feet. "Alrighty, girl, I know what you need. Come on, let's get outta here."

"Where-where are we going?"

"My room. We're havin' girls night tonight."


End file.
